


Assume and Make an Ass Out of You and...Well, Just You

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Omega Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Press and Tabloids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: Jack Morrison doesn’t have a media complex. The media has a Jack Morrison complex. He’s been dealing with bloodsucking dynamic-obsessed paparazzos since the SEP results were made public in the face of public demand during the Omnic Crisis.And now, for reasons he can never quite understand, they REALLY want him to have a baby.-or : Five Times Jack Morrison Most Definitely Was Not Pregnant, Plus...





	Assume and Make an Ass Out of You and...Well, Just You

**Author's Note:**

> This will be my first officially posted Overwatch fic. Be gentle with my fragile twisted heart, please. 
> 
> The fact that it's completed, makes at least some sense, and exists on Ao3 is thanks to the beautiful people on the [Omegawatch Discord server](https://discord.gg/4WTNjcP) and a few lovely multi-fandom wondermigos on the Assquisition. 
> 
> <3

Jack Morrison doesn’t have a media complex. The media has a Jack Morrison complex. He’s been dealing with bloodsucking dynamic-obsessed paparazzos since the SEP results were declassified in the face of public demand during the Omnic Crisis. 

-

**Reinhardt -**

Jack grew up on a farm in Indiana, the second in a mixed bag brood of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. Secondary gender didn’t matter a lick when they were deciding who’d be baling the hay or tending the crop. 

No one pleaded potential future pregnancy or—heaven forbid—a terminal case of dominant pigheadedness to get out of lending a hand around the homestead. 

No one  _ cared.  _

Which makes the media shitstorm Jack’s weathering now a bit of a surprise. Apparently, the media  _ does  _ care. Very much. In fact, the media is losing its damn mind because  _ there’s an Omega  _ defending them from rampaging Bastion units. 

Apparently the ability to pop out a kid makes him uniquely unsuitable for doing anything else. Especially where there are  _ guns  _ involved. 

Jack’s fingers twitch, longing for the reassuring weight of his pulse rifle as a few dozen more flashes go off in his already purple-dotted vision. 

And then someone—maybe an irate bystander, maybe an overzealous pap who needs the shot—decides to throw a rock at him. The snarl is unexpected, and that makes it all the more effective. 

Reinhardt is there almost immediately after impact, covering Jack with the safe expanse of his back, and staring down the crowd as if he might charge forward at any moment. 

The whispers begin almost as quickly. 

It’s instinctive behavior for pack Alphas to protect Omegas, especially when they find themselves in a  _ vulnerable  _ way. They have no medical information, but Reinhardt Wilhelm  _ must  _ be an Alpha. You know,  _ because he has muscles.  _

And that’s the first time Jack Morrison’s face appears plastered across the internet in tablet rags the world over.  **Pretty Boy Military Experiment Knocked Up in the Line of Duty** _.  _

It’s like Captain America with more babies and less punching Hitler in the face. 

Gabe laughs until his face hurts and then sits down next to him near the door to medical. 

Angela has to check Reinhardt’s blood pressure, just to be sure. The knight is only a few months along, and Omega instinct or not, challenging a mob of reporters to a battle royale is probably not good for him  _ or  _ the baby. 

Jack thumps his head back against the wall again and again until Gabe puts his hand up to catch him. 

“This is such bullshit.” Jack says. 

“Yeah,” Gabe says. “You’re prettier than Captain America.”

 

**Torbjörn -**

 

On the list of ‘stupid media fodder’ Jack has been caught engaging in, he didn’t think something as innocuous as  _ knitting  _ would land him, yet again, in the nosey public eye. 

**Jack Morrison Spotted Baby Prepping : Blue for Boy?**

Blue was for available yarn during wartime scarcity, for shit’s sake, and he’d only been knitting the damned thing because Torbjörn couldn’t manage it, even with his more realistic prosthetic. 

The fingers didn’t move right, he insisted, and how could Jack say no to that? 

He wasn’t doing anything important in his down time, save humiliating Gabriel at ping-pong and watching crappy daytime television with Reinhardt and Ana. 

There was too much time to  _ think  _ about all the things going wrong in the world right now. So he focuses on the dragging burn of fiber through his fingertips, the under and over and index and thumb pattern of assembling some flimsy protection for his friend’s unborn child. 

For a piece of the future, he thinks. 

Gabriel gives him shit for it. Tells him he’s too  _ Home & Gardening _ to actually  _ exist _ when the article pops up on the web. 

But then a few nights later he’s shoving at Jack with his socked heel, making a space for himself on the couch so he can plop down with his own ball of fuzzy children’s yarn and a pair of needles. 

“Your mama knit that hat for you, Reyes?” Jack asks. 

“Nah,  _ tonto.  _ I was born with it. It’s part of my head.”

Jack knows that’s bull, but he’s genuinely never seen Gabriel Reyes’ hair. 

\- 

**Ana -**

Apparently, Jack has horrible luck with children. 

Not  _ dealing  _ with children, but the media fallout that has apparently become attached to each and every little interaction. 

The photo of him leading a child from the rubble after a nasty skirmish with the omnics circulated for about seven  _ hours _ before it became a  _ poster. _

_ _

The people printing it couldn’t even  _ begin  _ to understand how he or the kid had felt in that moment. It had taken Jack about twenty minutes to convince his little buddy to crawl out from under the rubble where his friend’s body was trapped. 

The blood was caked under his nails and Jack had helped him scrub and scrub and  _ scrub  _ and promised to help find his mother. That much, he’d managed. That one promise, he’d kept.

But it wasn’t a hero the photographers had caught in that perfect halo of sunlight. It was a terrified kid holding onto a slightly  _ smaller  _ terrified kid, both looking for the security of mother. 

He nearly throws the tablet into a wall when they show him the article: 

**Super Soldier or Super Parent?**

The world is breaking into code and blood and bullets and the gossip rags are still looking for some way to sneak a camera  _ all the way into his uterus.  _

Even now. Even now, and he…

He hides in his bunk until Gabe comes to drag him out. 

“Got a surprise for you.” Gabe rasps, because he’d been inhaling more than his share of cement dust and smoke. Angela had nearly superglued a bottle of water into the hand not pulling his wilting partner along. 

“Not in the mood.” Jack sighs, feet dragging in the dust as they stumble through the tent city. 

Gabe pauses for just a moment, shooting him a serious look. “Really? Not even to meet the littlest Amari?”

Everything in Jack seems to spark bright and new, like someone’s cleared the dirt off of a window and let the sun back through.  _ There  _ it is. Something small and new and innocent to believe in, and as hypocritical as it might be, it’s good. So good. 

“Fareeha, right? A little girl. Fareeha.”

“Yeah.” Gabe says. “Hell of a grip.”

“Scary like her mom?”

“Not yet. But she will be.”

Jack picks up the pace, resettles his fingers in Gabe’s grip. He’s going to touch her hand. He’s going to build her a better world. 

Ana says  _ Fareeha  _ means  _ “happy.” _

-

**Jesse -**

Jack remembers a survey. 

He can’t remember when or what for, but he remembers the neat line of bubbles across the page, waiting to be filled in with tick marks or dark shading. 

He remembers the column for ‘Generally Satisfied.’

He used to wake up each morning feeling ‘Generally Satisfied’ with the work he was doing, and with his place in the world. Now his mark’s left a bit further down the line. 

Some days he wakes up slowly, just ahead of the alarm, and stares at the lines of his palms. Others, he wakes up quick, his entire body aware that the other side of the bed is a different kind of empty. 

The morning afters of all the rough nights that leave him feeling more alone with Gabe next to him than when he vacates the sheets. 

But there’s no Jack-shaped hole in Gabe’s life. 

There’s no open palm waiting for Jack. 

Instead, there’s an interview with an internationally-acclaimed reporter while, several floors down, Gabriel’s newest acquisition is refusing to answer questions. 

Jack’s in no hurry as he walks down the halls, carefully overhearing. 

_ It’s just a kid the Blackwatch dragged in.  _

_ Omega. A young one.  _

_ They’ve taken his things to Reyes’ office. He had to run up and get a  _ cowboy hat. 

It doesn’t even occur to Jack that he’s missing an interview—an important one, according to some vague higher power—to break into his estranged... _ something’s  _ office. 

There’s a worn length of cloth. Some kind of shawl or wrap in lurid red with gold details at the edges and Jack just stands there, holding it in his hands. It feels  _ old _ . Somehow, it’s soft and rough all at once, partially frayed with a bullet hole along the edge. 

It smells like blood and gunfire and distressed Omega. 

And Jack remembers,  _ He’s just a kid! _

And Jack remembers,  _ He’s just a kid who could have killed you! _

And Jack remembers Gabe shouting  _ I’m not leaving him!  _

And now Jack can’t, either. 

He bundles up the serape in his arms, looking down at it like if he’s sweet enough, gentle enough, good enough, this ratty cape will tell him what’s gone wrong for all of them. 

He doesn’t notice the click of the shutter. 

He doesn’t  _ care  _ when he sees the article days later,  **Baby Blanket for OW Boss?**

He’s been here before in blue yarn and bright eyes, and now he just doesn’t care. There’s a bullet hole. 

There’s a bullet hole. 

Jesse McCree gets a home and a family, and that’s the good Gabriel does. But the look on Jesse’s face when Jack hands him his wrap and pushes his hair back from over his eyes... that’s them, is all. 

-

**Genji -**

Genji is too much for Gabriel.

Genji is too much for everyone, including himself. 

Genji is a cautionary tale told the wrong way, with no moral at the end and a hinge metal trap where his jaw used to be.

No one’s certain if it was Angela that kept him alive or all of the rage built up and flowing through the circuits. 

But Genji is an Omega, and that’s enough to burn through Jack’s blood, too. His scent is metallic and new, but still holds the heavy blossom scent of Hanamura at her best and the alcoholic tang of Genji at his worst. 

Over time, this will change. 

Over time, everything will change. 

But for now, Jack looks up talks by Tekhartha Mondatta and tries to pretend that he knows what he’s talking about. 

On a whim, he sends a message to the omnic and is floored when he receives a response. The information is helpful, but not as much as the sensation that someone out there has a hold on the weight he’s holding up and isn’t about to let go. 

They become pen pals, which is great for Jack’s peace of mind, but not much else. Jack Morrison isn’t exactly the go-to guy for getting your shit together, especially not while he’s running from one PR crisis to the next coverup. 

Jack is tired, and whatever pride he had is curled up somewhere in a smoldering crater, and when he gets an email from Mondatta about how his brother would  _ love to join them as a goodwill ambassador to Overwatch, and perhaps speak with your troubled friend _ he feels more relief than he has any right to. 

Because maybe this will help Genji, but his heart is still breaking. 

He makes the effort, and it  _ is _ most definitely an effort. Immigration law gets tangled up with identity politics, and for a month or two, there is an actual bureaucratic situation over whether Tekhartha Zenyatta needs a passport or a shipping invoice because  _ personhood  _ versus  _ property.  _

For a while, an article circulates suggesting that the Strike Commander of Overwatch has been looking into overseas adoption agencies. 

**International Adoption: Morrison Infertile?**

It’s a fight, and a long one, but it’s worth it. 

The first time Zenyatta reminds him that he is only one man, and that he has done a great deal of good among the truly,  _ truly  _ awful. 

The first time he and Genji invite their commander to join the rest of their Thursday group for a half hour of mindfulness training, and McCree pats the spot next to his. 

The first time Genji smiles at him, the expression crinkling at his eyes and playing music over the mechanical lines in his voice, Jack takes a deep breath and thinks: 

_ Change.  _

He has, in fact, adopted a robot therapist who leads guided meditation on alternating afternoons, and offers the advice Jack needs when he needs it the most.

-

**And then there’s Gabriel. . .**

The headline reads:

**Strike Commander Steps Down: Will Reyes Rise to the Occasion?**

Except that this is the first  _ Reyes  _ has heard of anything  _ like  _ it.

There was no sign, no indication from Jack or anyone in the U.N., but it’s  _ real,  _ not just some tabloid garbage. 

And the last conversation they’d had was—

Was Jack giving up. 

_ “I’m tired _ .” He said.  _ “It’s hate sex, Gabe. Or something close to it. And I can’t do that to either of us. _ ”

And Gabe couldn’t think of any way to answer that. Couldn’t find words to express how much he  _ didn’t want that.  _

But it was like scrubbing his skin clean with lye.

He wants everything he can’t have. Except now he can, and it’s all in the wrong order. He doesn’t want it like this. 

He doesn’t want it without Jack. 

So of course he tracks Jack down to where he’s packing up the stupid little cactus Genji and Zenyatta gave him with the rest of his office tchotchkes.  

He looks at the white knuckled grip Jack’s got on the box, the set jaw, the look in his eyes like he’s just  _ waiting  _ for the argument.

But Gabe can’t, because he doesn’t  _ hate  _ him. He could never hate him. 

He just...he just gets  _ mad,  _ because mad is easier than crushed or broken or not surprised at all by the newest shit hand of cards life has dealt him. But he is  _ not  _ taking this damn promotion. 

“I told them it has to be you.” Jack says. 

“Bull. You can’t quit.”

“Gabe, I have to. And you’re the most qualified person for this job. I know you’ll keep us safe. You always do.”

“Bull _ shit _ you have to step down,  _ pendejo  _ look—”

One of the box handles rips, and it falls the short distance back to the desk. “ **No.** Gabe, I’m going crazy trying to do  _ half the job  _ you did. I’m  _ not  _ doing it pregnant!”

And Gabe just stands there, gobsmacked while Jack strides past him and out of the office. 

His office. 

Their— 

Their  _ baby.  _

-

Gabe finds him, two hours later, huddled against his bedframe and staring at the wall. He slides up next to him, hot chocolate in one hand and a beer in the other. 

“So...you’re definitely pregnant this time.”

“That’s what the pee stick said.” Jack reaches out to take the mug, and Gabe is glad to see him relax just a little. 

“Did you keep it? I mean I believe you, I just—”

“Want to touch my pee stick?”  

“G-d, no, you asshole. I just wanna..” He makes a useless motion with his beer, as if to indicate All the Light Touches. 

“Ange says I should have an ultrasound soon. See the belly bean.” He taps his stomach which is, now that Gabe’s looking, a little softer and rounder than usual. 

“Shit.” Gabe mutters, and backpedals when Jack frowns. “I mean it’s real. Not a tabloid thing. I’m not gonna find out Torbjörn’s seventeenth is on the way and you’re retiring to be a doula.” 

“Tor only has nine kids. Don’t be a dick.”

“Yeah,” Gabe smiles a goofy little smile, “And we got one.”

“Yeah. Yeah we do, Commander.” Jack rests his head against Gabriel’s shoulder, and for a few blissful moments, they’re content. And then he feels Gabe start shaking with quiet laughter. 

“Wonder what the papers will say about this one?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hey over on [tumblr.](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/)


End file.
